


Homecoming

by Aithilin



Series: Phone Calls with Victor [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Spy Victor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2018-02-03 23:18:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1759445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/pseuds/Aithilin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Victor finally gets back to London.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Homecoming

It was raining. Of course it was raining. It was London, Victor was supposed to be home, and John had been quite pleased to say that it was meant to be sunny all week. So of course it was dark, and dreary, and raining. Of course thick clouds had moved in and the city looked liked it was built from black stone. Of course Victor was running late.

Sherlock blamed Mycroft. Not necessarily for the weather, though it was an amusing distraction to devise scenarios where Mycroft might commission a machine to manipulate England’s weather to keep from going on walks.

He blamed Mycroft for the delay.

Pacing the sitting room of 221B, phone clutched tightly in hand in the hopes of an update, Sherlock was certain that his brother had offered Victor a ride, only to question him. No doubt that an official debrief was not enough. An official evaluation of Victor’s mental health somehow flawed in Mycroft’s eyes.

His fantasies for vengeance were interrupted by the phone.

"Mycroft is a twat." Victor said by way of greeting. "I jumped out of the car when he started implying you were shagging John. Where do you live again?"

"Two-two-one Baker Street. Next to the deli-thing."

"Convenient. I’m almost there."

"You jumped out of Mycroft’s car?"

"He was being an idiot."

"He often is." Sherlock smiled and relaxed, let his whole body relax again. Now that he knew Victor was on his way— it was a certainty, obvious, definite. "How far are you?"

"A few blocks, I think."

"Think? Victor, where are you?"

"Currently? A fire escape. I’m taking a back route."

That would explain the lack of noise from traffic. “What do you see?”

"That London’s changed a bit."

"I can direct you, Victor."

"Are you my handler on this mission, bee?"

"I’m more qualified than most."

"I think I’d prefer you as my prey."

"Your prey?" Sherlock smirked— imagined rooftop and alleyway chases; his familiarity with the city matched to Victor’s cunning. "That might be an interesting exercise in future."

"You’re only thinking of the chase, Will. You should think about what I’ll do when I catch you."

"What makes you think you’ll be the one to catch me?"

"It’s what I do, bee."

He heard his bedroom window open— pried from the lock, but not completely inviting. The cursing came through both the phone and muffled from the door. Hanging up, Sherlock went to greet his lover.

"Do _not_ contaminate those moulds with rainwater, Victor.”

"Hello to you, too, Will."


End file.
